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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150310">tale as old as time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant'>allechant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood, F/M, First Love, Hate at First Sight, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:30:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>he was tired of always saying goodbye.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Main Character/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solomon, the son of the great King David, was known for his wit and his wealth.</p><p>But he hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, Solomon too was a child, and like all children, he longed to explore the world outside.</p><p>Even before God granted him the gift of wisdom, Solomon was clever, and more than once he snuck out of the palace dressed in the guise of a commoner, away from the watchful eyes of his mother and the prophets. He loved to visit the vibrant, bustling town market, and he’d wander between the stalls, staring wide-eyed at the array of spices, dried goods, silk and textiles, and even magical charms and potions.</p><p>Perhaps more than once he had filched an item or two with his light fingers, but no one ever suspected the ethereal silver-haired child with his pretty blue eyes and that charming smile, the very picture of innocence. Anyway, he always returned the items he stole once he went home and was inevitably forced to empty his pockets.</p><p><em>God will punish you for being a thief</em>, his mother chided more than once, frustration evident in her voice. Solomon rarely listened. God oversaw all the humans in the world; He wouldn’t have time to notice one boy with a penchant for taking things that didn’t belong to him. And did it matter, if those items always found their way back to their owners?</p><p>One day, Solomon was wandering through the market again, dressed in a brown robe with the hood pulled up over his head. His fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the market stalls, ghosted over spices and spells and lucky charms – he saw a crystal orb that caught the light of the sun, shimmering and reflecting a thousand different colours, and his attention was snared, a magpie tempted by the promise of treasure.</p><p>“Oh, you like this, boy?” the stall-keeper asked, leaning over with a jovial smile on his face. “It’s supposed to be a love charm. If you have it, you’re guaranteed to find your partner in destiny! Though it might be a wee bit early for you, youngling. Maybe you want to come back when you’re a little older.”</p><p>“I’m turning twelve this year,” Solomon answered, indignant now. It wouldn't be the first time an adult had insinuated he might be too young for something, and as always, he found that to be particularly insulting. “I’m old enough to know what love is.”</p><p>The stall-keeper chuckled. “So you say, boy. So you say.” He glanced over his shoulder. “<em>Yaldá</em>, why don’t you come here and say hello, eh?”</p><p>He heard the sound of someone approaching, and he turned towards the newcomer with a glare, unimpressed by the stall-keeper’s nonchalance – part of him was tempted to return in full royal garb, maybe <em>then</em> he’d know who he was talking to – but then the girl came into view and he paused, blinking at her.</p><p>A child. Probably no older than he was. She smiled and bowed her head slightly, and the stall-keeper patted her shoulder, still with that insufferable smile on his face. “If you have some free time, boy, why don’t you keep her company for a while?”</p><p>“And what’s in it for me?” Solomon asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously. She shrank a little under his withering gaze, shuffling closer to the man, and internally he scoffed; he could scarcely be interested in someone who didn’t have a mind of her own.</p><p>“It’d keep you out of trouble. You <em>are</em> the little pickpocket who’s been going all across the market lately, aren’t you?” The stall-keeper raised an eyebrow, still grinning, though Solomon glanced up in alarm, his scowl immediately sliding off his face. “You think we haven’t noticed, boy? Our wares always seem to disappear when you come to the stalls. And despite that cloak of yours, you have a very distinctive face.”</p><p>Not for the first time, Solomon wondered why he’d been born with silver-white hair, his eyelid twitching in annoyance. People always took a second look at him, shocked to see someone so young with hair so light. When coupled with his blue eyes, Solomon knew he looked striking, if not memorable. “Are you going to report me, then?”</p><p>“Why would any of us try to report the Prince of Israel, hm?” The man’s eyes twinkled. “We would all very much like to keep our heads on our shoulders.”</p><p>Solomon exhaled in defeat. It didn’t seem like he would be able to worm his way out of this one. “Fine. You want me to spend time with…her.” He pointed at the girl, who just blinked at him, her lips pressed firmly together. He wondered if she was mute.</p><p>“Yes. It would do her good to have more friends her age.” The stall-keeper nudged the girl, who looked uncertainly up at him. “Don't be shy. Go on, greet the prince.”</p><p>“Good day, Your Highness,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. His lip curled.</p><p>“Don't call me that. You’ll give my disguise away,” he snapped. “And why should I talk to her? It's not my problem if she doesn't have enough friends. I don't have the time to entertain her.”</p><p>“Well, given the way you frequent the market, I thought you were bored, and perhaps in need of a companion,” the stall-keeper said, his voice mild. “But if that isn't the case, then please forgive my assumption.”</p><p>Solomon hesitated. The girl continued to watch him, but he couldn’t read the look on her face and that annoyed him. He opened his mouth, about to refuse the stall-keeper, but then his gaze landed on the pretty crystal orb and he bit his lip, contemplating.</p><p>Well, he just had to accompany her for a while, right? Then the stall-keeper would owe him a favour? He didn’t have to <em>do</em> anything, and if he played his cards right, he might even get something out of it. “Fine. I’ll do it, but only on two conditions – first, you give me that crystal orb, and second, she has to listen to everything I say. I don’t take kindly to people who disobey my orders or talk back to me.”</p><p>He lifted his chin, defiant, and the stall-keeper chuckled and shook his head, glancing at the girl. “Did you hear that, <em>yaldá</em>? Is that something you are all right with?”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m grateful for your time.”</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. Something about her was already rubbing him off the wrong way, though he wasn’t sure what it was. “One more thing. When you are in my presence you are to address me as Solomon. No ‘Your Highness’ or ‘My Prince’ or any of those stupid titles. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I understand.” She paused. “Solomon.”</p><p>“Good. At least we could get that into your thick skull.” He folded his arms across his chest, glancing at the stall-keeper to gauge his reaction to their exchange; the man just smiled indulgently back at him, and Solomon was tempted to break something.</p><p>He restrained himself. He was a prince of Israel, and therefore he had to maintain a certain level of decorum in front of others. Even if they did happen to be annoying stall-keepers with annoying daughters with annoying requests.</p><p>Still, he felt a little proud of himself for handling the situation so well. It was the first time anyone had asked him for a favour, and as the prince, he’d likely have to deal with similar situations in the future. This would make good practice.</p><p>“What’s your name?” The girl opened her mouth, about to tell him, but then he shook his head. “You know what? Don’t say it. I don't need to know.”</p><p>“Okay, Solomon,” she answered, and he wondered if he had imagined the little flash of hurt that went through her eyes. Not that it mattered to him. Her feelings weren’t important, after all. “Is there anything you need help with?”</p><p>“Help? From <em>you</em>?” He was about to make a pointed comment about how she probably needed help more than he did, but then he paused and considered the situation – all this time he’d visited the town market because it was the safest place to go. Having been born and raised in the palace, he knew next to nothing about commoners, and he wasn’t stupid enough to explore outside the market on his own. But with her…</p><p>“I want to see everything in town,” he decided. “I’m tired of always wandering around the market. There must be more interesting sights. Show me around.”</p><p>“All right.” She nodded, finally stepping away from her father. Then she glanced up at him. “Do you need me to pick up anything on the way home?”</p><p>The stall-keeper shook his head. “Drop by this stall again later and I’ll give you the crystal as promised, boy,” he said. Solomon made a quiet sound of assent, shifting his gaze away from the man. “Have fun! But make sure to come back before sundown. The streets are dangerous as night,” he cautioned. “Take care of him, <em>yaldá</em>.”</p><p>Solomon frowned. He didn’t need to be looked after, but he was in no mood to start an argument with the stall-keeper and he decided to hold his tongue.</p><p>“Yes, I will.” She turned towards Solomon. “Let’s visit the entertainment district first. It’s a little distance away from the market, and it’s always bustling with activity.”</p><p>He hesitated. He’d heard stories from the servants about the entertainment district, and his mother had told him before in hushed tones to always avoid the area; it was a dangerous, seedy place, she said, only visited by sinners and desperate men.</p><p>But he was curious about it, and if this little girl was able to visit the entertainment district – she certainly sounded like she was familiar with the place – then it made no sense that he couldn’t, either. Resolutely, he nodded and stepped forward, following her lead, and the two of them made their way out of the market, down a side-street Solomon had never dared to take before. The girl was sure-footed and quiet, slipping through the shadows, and it took him some effort to keep up with her.</p><p>Something niggled in the back of his mind, about the girl and the stall-keeper. Even Solomon and his father, King David, had a warmer relationship than those two. Were they truly father and daughter? But he didn’t want to ask; the less he knew about this girl, the better. He just wanted to fulfil his end of the bargain and forget that he’d ever encountered her. With a shrug, he glanced at the small figure ahead of him, wondering if they’d reach the entertainment district soon.</p><p>He couldn’t stay out too late. His mother would worry, and he’d be surprised if the prophets hadn’t already sent out servants to search for him. It would be like a game of cat-and-mouse – how long could he spend outside the palace before one of the servants forcibly hauled him home? He enjoyed this game, and now with someone to show him around, he thought he could play for a little while longer.</p><p>“Are you all right, Solomon?” She looked back, noticing that he’d fallen behind, and he huffed, not willing to show any sign of weakness in front of her.</p><p>“Of course! Who do you think you’re talking to?” he retorted, and she simply nodded, turning her gaze away from him. He couldn’t help but feel irate, but he told himself there was no point in losing his temper over a commoner. Then he thought about the pretty crystal and its rainbow lights.</p><p>A love charm. How silly. There was no such thing as magic in this world; all they needed was faith in the Lord, and He would provide the miracles they needed to tide them through their lives. At least, that was what he was taught. Trinkets, charms and spells were the trappings of heathens who had not yet learnt the truth.</p><p>Not that Solomon believed in that entirely. It was hard to imagine someone in the sky, watching over them with an iron fist and all-seeing eyes. His mother rarely brought up the topic of God, preferring not to talk about Him; once in a while, Solomon caught her slipping away somewhere, but he never got the chance to go far before someone noticed him and sent him back to the palace.</p><p>Every time, he’d wonder where his mother was going. He wondered if her excursions had something to do with the man in the sky. Why wouldn’t she bring him along?</p><p>Just then, the girl turned a corner and slipped out of the alley, and he followed suit, keeping his head down, his hood covering his distinctive hair. He could smell smoke and flowers in the air, the heavy, cloying scent of perfume, hear the sounds of music and song and deep, raucous laughter. He wrinkled his nose, his hand moving up to cover his mouth – the scents were overwhelming, and it was difficult to focus.</p><p>“Is it always so noisy out here?” he asked, forced to lean closer to the girl so he could speak. She nodded, and together they peered over a few conveniently located crates, trying not to be noticed by anyone. He took in his first glimpse of the district – women walking around in colourful garments, thin veils reaching down from their foreheads to their hips, and men laughing, drinking wine and smoking hashish in small circles.</p><p>“Let’s not get too close,” she whispered, and Solomon realised, much to his distaste, that she was a little taller than him and she had to lean down just to speak into his ear. “They would surely recognise you, and that might be troublesome.”</p><p>He agreed with her assessment. He was nowhere near ready to be hauled back to the palace. “I want to eat something,” he said. “Something I can’t have at home.”</p><p>“Hm. Something we’d usually eat?” she guessed, and he nodded, glancing at the gathered people. They seemed happy. One of the men called towards a woman, and she walked over to him, giggling – she leant closer, and the man spoke. She listened, then burst out laughing and nodded, taking hold of his outstretched hand.</p><p>The other men cheered as he followed her, and Solomon had to wonder what was going on. This place was rowdy, and he couldn’t be sure if he liked it or not; it was nothing like the market, which was always buzzing with activity and the calls of stall-keepers hawking their wares. This atmosphere was…<em>different</em>. It made him bristle.</p><p>“There’s a place here that sells nice honey and fig cakes.” The girl looked up at him with a grin, her eyes sparkling. He frowned back at her. “Follow me! And be sure to keep your hood up,” she added, darting away from the crates.</p><p>He followed her, albeit slightly reluctantly; he wasn’t too confident about leaving their hiding spot, but then again, they were here to explore and not just cower in a corner all day. They managed to get past the open area without anyone noticing them, and after a short walk, he found himself in front of a small, nondescript stall.</p><p>A beaming woman was standing there, chatting with the girl, and they glanced at him as he warily approached. “This one here your friend, <em>yaldá</em>?”</p><p>“An acquaintance,” she answered, and the woman’s eyes lit up in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable. “Can we have one honey fig cake, please?”</p><p>“Here you go.” The woman handed her a flat, charred-looking loaf, and he wrinkled his nose at it, unimpressed. “And some goat milk for you too. Say hello to your <em>aba</em> for me.”</p><p>“Thank you!” The girl reached into a satchel around her waist, taking out a silver coin. The woman accepted it with a smile and a wave, and they slipped away from the stall as quickly as they came – they got to a quiet cranny away from the noise and the crowd, then she broke the loaf in two and handed him a half.</p><p>“Here you go. It’s yummy. Try it!” He stared down at the dark cake in his hand, unsure about putting it inside his mouth, but she seemed happy munching on her half and he finally decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>Tentatively, he took a bite, and he realised that the cake was soft and dense, the thick, syrupy sweetness of figs spreading across his tongue – he could taste honey as well, rich and decadent, and it complemented the flavour of the figs, making his eyes widen. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, seeking affirmation.</p><p>Somewhat reluctantly, he nodded, and she smiled, looking a little relieved. “I always get fig cakes from here! The stall-keeper is nice, and sometimes she gives out extras.” She held up the dried skin she had received along with the cake, which he assumed contained the goat milk. “Would you like some?”</p><p>He eyed the skin. It didn’t look very clean. “No thank you.” Luckily, she didn’t try to force him, taking a swig of milk instead, and he stared as some of it dribbled down from her mouth to her chin. “How much did the cake cost? I’ll pay you next time.”</p><p>“Oh, you don’t have to.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. “Is this because of who I am?” She didn’t answer immediately, and he scowled. “I don’t want any special treatment. I’ll pay you.”</p><p>“You’re the prince,” she protested, glancing up at him. “You don’t have to –”</p><p>“Just shut up and let me pay,” he said, and she fell silent, her gaze flitting between him and the cake in his hand.</p><p>“All right,” she finally said, and he nodded, satisfied. For a moment, they both focused on their food, Solomon happily savouring his snack – while the palace <em>did</em> sometimes serve fig cakes, for some reason, this one tasted different from what he was used to.</p><p>Then she cleared her throat. “You like the cake?” she asked, and he felt his eyebrow twitch. Hadn’t she already asked a similar question?</p><p>But he was in a good mood, so he thought he’d be generous enough to answer again. “Kind of.” His tone was curt, but she didn’t seem to mind. “It’s decent, at least.”</p><p>She giggled, licking her fingers. “That’s good to know. The stall-keeper will be happy to hear that.” She paused, as though she was considering her words. “She’s kind of like a mother to me.”</p><p>“Really.” He didn’t particularly care but she seemed to be in a chatty mood, and if that meant he wouldn’t have to talk, then he was more than happy to encourage her.</p><p>“Mm-hm. She looks after everyone.” She puffed out her cheeks, staring at the street outside the alley. “She’s very nice, and she gives us snacks when we’re hungry.”</p><p>“Don’t you have a mother?” he asked, finishing the last bit of his fig cake.</p><p>“I don’t know who my parents are.” Her voice was quiet. He raised an eyebrow at that, and she hesitated, glancing at him before she quickly turned away. “I grew up on the streets. That much I know. I can’t remember anything before that. The stall-keeper took me in, and I’m grateful for his kindness, but…he’s not my father.”</p><p>“Oh.” Solomon swallowed his cake. “Well. You didn’t have to tell me that. But never mind, since you already brought it up.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” She sounded contrite, and his eyebrow twitched again.</p><p>“Stop apologising. It’s annoying,” he said, wiping his sticky fingers on his cloak. She nodded but didn’t say anything else, much to his relief. She was such a pushover; he wondered why that got on his nerves so much. The palace servants would bend over backwards for him too, but he never felt this much animosity towards them.</p><p>“I’m tired,” he said. “I want to go home. But before that, I’m going to collect my debt.” He peeked out of the alley, his head turned towards the central plaza – even from here, he could hear the distinct sounds of merrymaking. The suffocatingly thick perfume clung to his skin and clothes, and he wondered if it would ever wash out.</p><p>“Let’s go then,” she answered, and he followed her away from the entertainment district, his footsteps slower, slightly clumsier than they were before. It’d been some time since he last stayed out for this long, and he wasn’t used to it – running around town was very different from playing in the palace. Maybe because everything was so unfamiliar here. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of her head, willing himself not to fall too far behind – he didn’t want to be separated from his only guide.</p><p>The return trip was faster than he expected, and before long they were sidling up to the stall-keeper, who was already beginning to pack his wares. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the skies were painted in hues of orange and purple, specks of light dotting the heavens above. He had always enjoyed twilight. It was his favourite time of the day; when the air was pleasantly cool and everyone began to mellow.</p><p>“Oh, you two are back,” the stall-keeper said, peering at them. Solomon nodded, his hood slipping back a little to reveal his bright silver hair, and he noticed the girl gaping at him out of the corners of his eyes. It made him a little uncomfortable.</p><p>He never liked it when people stared at his face. Or his hair. His mother claimed that his unique appearance was due to his position – she said he was special, that he was the symbol of peace who had mended the bridge between his father and God.</p><p>But he didn’t care for any of that. Sometimes, Solomon wished he could just be normal. He wished that people wouldn’t turn to stare the moment he showed his face outside the palace. That he could just lead a simple, peaceful life, away from all the looks and whispers. “I want what was promised to me,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.</p><p>“Ah, of course. Here you go.” The stall-keeper reached into his bundle, retrieving the orb, and Solomon took hold of it, feeling the crystal cool against his skin. It was roughly the size of his fist, and he brought it up to his eye, studying it for any scratches or flaws. The orb was perfect, and it glinted in the light of the dying sun, reflecting shades of crimson and orange – it was a pretty trinket for sure.</p><p>“Not sure what you want this charm for,” the stall-keeper continued conversationally. “Are you looking for love, boy? A little young, aren’t you?”</p><p>Solomon shot the man an offended look. “Don’t be ridiculous. Someone of my status doesn’t need to worry about love. My parents will arrange a marriage for me sooner or later.” He studied the orb again, running his fingers over the smooth surface. “No, I’m going to add it to my collection. I like shiny things.”</p><p>“Ah, just like a magpie. Or a crow.” The man nodded. “Crows are very intelligent birds, you know. It seems fitting, given your reputation for wit and…”</p><p>“I know what you’re about to say, and you would do well not to continue.” He shifted the orb from one hand to the other. It was a good, solid weight, and that pleased him. “Thank you for the exchange. Now, I should start making my way home.”</p><p>“Can I follow you?” The girl suddenly spoke, having remained silent all this while, and he turned his attention to her, not bothering to hide his frown.</p><p>“Must you?” he asked. “I believe I have spent enough time with you today.”</p><p>She didn’t answer, but she did meet his gaze, her eyes wide. He wanted to stand firm and say no, but he thought about the fig cake and her sob story – why <em>did</em> she have to tell him that, now it was making him feel guilty – and he let out a sigh.</p><p>“Fine. But you can’t follow me the entire way. The servants like to gossip, and I don’t want to have to explain who you are. Do you understand?”</p><p>“All right.” She didn’t protest at all, and he shot her a questioning look before he shrugged and tugged his hood back down, concealing his hair. He left the market, going down a path so familiar that he could walk it with his eyes closed, and he was painfully aware of the cautious footsteps behind him, trailing him to his destination.</p><p>Silence reigned between them. He settled into a familiar rhythm, focusing on the road ahead, and for a while, he could almost convince himself that he was alone, that there was no irritating pest walking behind him – but then suddenly she spoke, and he gritted his teeth as her unwelcome voice jolted him out of his thoughts.</p><p>“What’s it like, living in the palace?” she asked, and he considered the pros and cons of answering her question. Did he <em>want</em> to talk to her? Not exactly. But he felt a little bad if he simply ignored her. She did help him today, after all.</p><p>Maybe he’d just give short replies and hope she got the hint. “It’s nothing special.”</p><p>“Oh.” She paused, and he hoped she wouldn’t try to continue the conversation, but then she cleared her throat and he suppressed a sigh. “But living in the palace should be interesting, right? It’s so big…”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know.” His tone was clipped. “I was raised there, so it’s normal for me. Why are you asking so many questions?”</p><p>That came out testier than he would’ve liked, but she didn’t seem to take any offence. “I’m just curious. We hardly get to see you, Solomon. But I won’t bother you anymore if you don’t want me to,” she added, her voice becoming soft and hesitant.</p><p>Solomon’s gaze flicked heavenwards. Irritation coiled in his gut, though he still had no explanation for why. Honestly, he should appreciate how respectful she was. Most people still talked down to him, believing him to be little more than a child; that adoptive father of hers was a prime example.</p><p>He decided to change the topic. “You don’t sound like the typical street urchin. Actually, you don’t even sound like a kid. It’s strange.”</p><p>“You don’t talk like a child either, Solomon.” Her retort was mild.</p><p>“I’m a prince. I’m not supposed to sound like one.” He sniffed, slipping through a gap in a nearby gate – once he went through this garden, the palace should be within reach. “We can’t be compared. So, who taught you how to speak like this?”</p><p>“There’s a man who comes to the market sometimes,” she explained. “He teaches us various languages and math whenever he has the time. He says that education is the key to leading a better life.” She exhaled. “I haven’t seen him in a while, though…”</p><p>“Oh.” He walked past a familiar palm tree, the one with the circle scratched into the bark – he never knew who left the mark there or what it might signify. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know who this garden belonged to. Trespassing wasn’t a concern that ever crossed his mind. “That’s…interesting, I suppose.”</p><p>He abruptly turned, and she almost walked straight into him – she managed to stop herself in time, but her hand continued to swing, knocking into his cloak. “Hey!” he snapped, jumping back, and his hood slipped off to reveal his face, his hair catching and reflecting the rosy sunset. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and he made a quiet sound of derision, scowling at her. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”</p><p>“Sorry!” She seemed flustered. “You just – um. You’re really…never mind,” she finally said, averting her gaze as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.</p><p>What a strange girl. He was glad he wouldn’t have to see her anymore. She made his chest burn for some reason, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “You can go back now. The palace is just beyond these trees, and I can’t have you following me there.”</p><p>“Ah. Okay.” She looked like she was contemplating something as she fiddled with her fingers. Then slowly, she raised her head, her gaze clashing with his, and he blinked. There was <em>something</em> in her eyes, something that looked almost like determination. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.</p><p>His first instinct was to say no. But he saw the hopeful smile on her face, saw the way she clasped her hands in front of her, almost as though in prayer, and he found that he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. So he turned away with a shrug, closing his eyes. “Maybe. If I’m in the mood. Goodbye.”</p><p>He just barely heard her whispered farewell, and part of him wondered why she was so eager to meet him a second time. Did she actually <em>enjoy</em> talking to him? It wasn’t like he’d made an effort to be friendly. There was probably something wrong with her.</p><p>Well, not that it mattered. He didn’t intend to keep her in his memory anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yaldá (ילדה) = girl<br/>aba (אַבָּא) = father</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he went back to the palace, the first thing his mother did was to fuss over him, much to his annoyance. Word immediately spread among the servants that the young prince had returned, and they could now cease their search.</p><p>His mother, once she stopped sweeping him for injuries, gave him a severe dressing-down outside the kitchen, then forbade him from eating sweets after dinner. Solomon knew better than to protest when she was all worked up like this, so he held his tongue and suffered through his meal, longing for the day to end so that he could wander into the servants’ quarters and show them his best puppy-eye look. No one could resist him when he really put his mind to it.</p><p>After she calmed down, his mother decided to increase the number of attendants he had, making it difficult for him to give them the slip. She also brought in more tutors to occupy his time, and just like that, Solomon found that he could no longer make any unofficial trips out of the palace. He simply had too much to do at home, and his attendants watched him like a hawk, reluctant to risk the ire of his mother.</p><p>One year passed, and he was thirteen now. Solomon was pushed hard by his tutors, and although they praised his intelligence and his ability to immediately grasp anything that they taught him, he found himself growing listless, wishing they would all just quit their droning. There was a difference between working hard and working smart, and what his tutors failed to realise was that he understood and memorised concepts the moment he heard them – they didn’t need to keep repeating themselves.</p><p>Then again, he supposed they needed to fill up their schedules somehow. His tutors were, in a way, glorified babysitters; his mother was perfectly aware that he had learnt everything he needed to know at the tender age of six, when he first embarked on his studies. But Solomon also knew how fierce his mother could be and even he didn’t want to risk a scolding, so he pretended to listen and allowed the tutors to keep him out of trouble.</p><p>Once in a while, he’d open up his chest of treasures and look through them, allowing each item to take him back to the past. Most of these items weren’t <em>treasures</em> in the truest sense of the word; they certainly paled in material value compared to anything else the royal family possessed. But he was drawn to shiny things and these collectables provided him with a figurative escape from his gilded birdcage.</p><p>He saw a vaguely familiar crystal orb lying in a corner of the chest and he reached for it, curious – the surface was cool, and as he brought it up to the sunlight it reflected colours all across his room, beautifully distracting. He recalled the stall-keeper who had given him this crystal in exchange for spending time with his daughter, and he frowned at the memory, the girl’s face hazy in his mind. It had only been a year, but somehow, it felt so very, very long ago. He sighed, wistful.</p><p>That had been his last trip out of the palace, at least on his own. Nowadays when he wanted to leave the grounds he was forced to go with his attendants, and that wasn’t any fun – it was even mildly embarrassing since they all feared losing him and made him hold their hands when they were outside. He was <em>thirteen</em>, for Heaven’s sake. He wasn’t a child who needed babying, but when he complained about the unfairness of it all, they looked him dead in the eye and said that it was his mother’s directive.</p><p>He was her first-born. Shouldn’t she give him more freedom? Solomon grumbled, his fingers lingering on the orb. As a prince of Israel, he needed the people’s respect and that wasn’t going to happen if they saw him holding hands with his attendants every time he went out.</p><p>Honestly, if he <em>really</em> wanted to give everyone the slip he probably could, but he still had enough heart to feel bad about getting his attendants into trouble. They did care for him, and the last thing he wanted was for them to be punished for his misdeeds. He placed the crystal orb back inside the chest, then left his room, deciding to head to the kitchen and ask for food. It was past lunchtime and he was hungry.</p><p>“Solomon!” He heard a familiar voice and exhaled through his nose, whirling around to catch his brother Shammua before he could crash right into him. Shammua clung to his waist, looking up at him – he was tiny, even for a seven-year-old. “I’m bored!”</p><p>“Go play with Nathan,” he said, ruffling Shammua’s hair. His brother pouted, turning those exact puppy eyes Solomon often used upon him, and he felt himself wavering.</p><p>“You haven’t played with me in <em>ages</em>,” he complained, and Solomon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For some reason he would never understand, all three of his younger brothers – Nathan, Shammua and Shobab – were particularly fond of bothering him.</p><p>It wasn’t so bad for Nathan. He was ten now, slowly growing into his own person, and their mother had also started cramming tutors down his throat – but Shammua, who had yet to start his formal education, and Shobab, who was only four, still followed him around like lost puppies. If they weren’t his blood-related brothers he would’ve found them annoying; as it was, he felt a vague sense of irritation every time he had to stop what he was doing just to entertain them. But well, Shammua <em>was</em> adorable.</p><p>How could he say no to that face? It would be like denying himself. Among the three of them, Shammua was the one who looked most like Solomon, a family resemblance that everyone described as uncanny. But instead of blue eyes, Shammua’s were brown, just like their mother. “What do you want to do?” he asked, finally relenting.</p><p>Shammua beamed. “I’m hungry!” he said, and Solomon nodded – he was about to go to the kitchen anyway, so this wouldn’t disrupt his plans.</p><p>“Let’s see if we can steal some bread,” he said, holding onto his brother’s hand, and Shammua nodded, trailing closely behind him. Neither of them bumped into his attendants, thank Heavens, because they surely would have followed him to ensure he wasn’t about to sneak away again. Though that did make him wonder where they were. Perhaps his mother had asked them to run an errand?</p><p>There were select duties that only a few servants could carry out, with his attendants falling within those ranks. He didn’t know what those duties were, nor did he want to know; he only cared about what they implied for him, which in this case was <em>privacy</em>. Idly, he wondered about sneaking out to the town market again, then glanced at his brother and decided against it – Shammua would no doubt want to follow, and that was far too much trouble. “Didn’t you have lunch, Shammua?”</p><p>“Mm, yes, but I want sweets.” He pouted again, and Solomon laughed, turning back to pat him on the head. “Mother said if I continue to eat so much I’m going to wipe out all our honey. That’s not true, is it?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.</p><p>“We can always get more honey,” Solomon pointed out, and Shammua perked up at the thought. He hid a smile – his brothers were simple and easy to please, unlike the rest of the palace. Everyone expected him to be perfect, to be knowledgeable and wise and to understand everything about Israel, to always maintain his image and ensure that he was never seen looking anything less than perfect. But all Shammua wanted was his brother’s attention, and that was something Solomon willingly provided…on most days, at least.</p><p>They reached the kitchen, which seemed to be busier than usual. That said something, given how chaotic it was on a regular day; one of the chefs was shouting at someone, and there was a flurry of activity all around the place, people putting away ingredients and chopping up vegetables in preparation for tonight’s dinner.</p><p>Solomon and Shammua stood in the doorway, watching everything unfold. The chef appeared to be scolding someone new – her head was bowed as she listened to the older man’s lecture, something about buying the wrong kind of onions. Solomon had to cover his brother’s ears as the chef started waving his hand about, letting loose some very colourful expletives. The girl fidgeted, looking contrite, then she glanced at the doorway and flinched back, her mouth falling open as she stared at him.</p><p>That caught the man's attention and he turned around – when he saw the two of them standing there, watching, the emotions on his face ran the gamut from surprise to panic to something almost resembling fear. “Your Highnesses!” he cried, sounding nothing like the fierce chef who’d been tearing into his staff mere moments ago. “We weren’t expecting you! Why did you trouble yourselves to come here?”</p><p>Solomon’s lips twitched. It was always entertaining to see people completely pivot when they realised he was observing them; such was the duality of man. “We wanted some food. Shammua here would like a sweet, and I didn’t manage to eat lunch.”</p><p>“Oh, of course!” The chef was still nervous. “You, get something ready for the princes. Don’t cause any trouble this time,” he warned, and the girl he’d been scolding bowed her head, darting away into another room. She quickly returned with a fig cake and a slice of buttered bread, to which the chef nodded with a grunt, and she approached the two of them cautiously, offering the snacks on a plate.</p><p>“Thank you!” Shammua trilled, polite as ever as he picked up the fig cake – she smiled at him, then met Solomon’s gaze, and he noticed the flash of recognition that went through her eyes, saw the way her grip tightened on the plate. He frowned.</p><p>How could she recognise him? She was clearly new here, and while she probably was aware that he was a member of the royal family, that didn’t explain the way she stared at him, as though she <em>knew</em> who he was – then suddenly he thought about the crystal orb he had picked up earlier, recalled the face of the girl who had given him half her honey fig cake all those months ago, and he blinked at her in surprise. “It’s you!” he said, the words slipping out of their own accord; she averted her gaze with a nod, and he narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“Come with me,” he demanded, and she followed him, giving the chef a helpless look as they left the kitchen. Shammua thankfully stayed behind, probably hoping to get another fig cake, and when they were some distance away from the kitchen Solomon whipped around to face her, his hands on his hips. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“There was a job opening in the palace kitchen, so I took it –”</p><p>“No,” he interrupted, scowling. “Why did you come <em>here</em>? Why did you accept a job in the palace?” She didn’t answer immediately, and he folded his arms across his chest. “The palace is a demanding employer. Our servants are expected to be good at what they do, and from what I’ve seen so far, you’re anything but.” His gaze swept her up and down. “If you can’t even follow simple instructions then you shouldn’t be here.”</p><p>She exhaled. “That was my mistake, yes. I misheard,” she explained, still holding onto the plate. Solomon glared at the piece of buttered bread, seized by the sudden urge to grab it and throw it into the gardens. “But I would like to prove myself, Your Highness. I know I’m capable of pulling my weight here, and I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”</p><p>He paused, studying her – she was looking him straight in the eye, a change from the shy doormat who had shown him around a year ago, and he relaxed a little, wondering if she actually <em>could</em> prove him wrong. “Well. If you’re so sure, then by all means try to prove yourself. We’ll see how long you last.” He smiled thinly, finally reaching for the bread. “And did you forget what I told you? Don’t call me Your Highness.”</p><p>Her eyes widened. “You remember,” she breathed, and he raised an eyebrow, unable to understand the smile that crossed her face. He had pulled her away from the kitchen just to scold her, and she was still pleased to see him? She truly was strange.</p><p>“Don’t think that I’ll give you any preferential treatment. As far as I’m concerned, you and I have never met,” he warned. She nodded, his words doing nothing to diminish her smile, and he wanted to sigh. “You may leave now. Go back and help the chefs.”</p><p>“As you wish, Solomon.” She bowed her head, then turned and made her way back to the kitchen. He watched her go, all kinds of emotions bubbling in his chest. She was someone he had almost entirely forgotten until she showed up in the palace, a sight so unexpected that he was still reeling from it. He remembered the question she asked him – <em>will I ever see you again</em>? Back then, he had wanted to say no.</p><p>He only didn’t because he felt sorry for her, and it looked like his kindness had come back to bite him. Now she was working here and he let out a groan, his hand reaching up to knead his forehead. What kind of God-forsaken crime had he committed in the past such that he would be cursed with her presence now?</p><p>After a few seconds of him agonising over his unfortunate situation, he looked up and nodded, filled with newfound resolution. To avoid getting annoyed by her, all he had to do was to stay away from the kitchen and the servants’ quarters. The palace was huge, after all – he could probably go about his entire life without ever seeing her.</p><p>Pleased with his straightforward solution, Solomon headed back to his room, deciding to distract himself by completing his assignments. He had been procrastinating on them for a while, but since he had another session with his tutors tomorrow, he really should get them over and done with.</p>
<hr/><p>The days passed. Solomon followed his plan, avoiding all the areas he thought she’d be most likely to visit. Of course, it wasn’t entirely fool-proof – he still saw her at times, bringing food to the table during meals or taking a break in the gardens – but those occasions were fleeting enough that he didn’t mind.</p><p>It helped that she didn’t attempt to talk to him again, even when he <em>knew</em> she had seen him. Perhaps she'd been warned by the other servants not to interact with the royal family unless it was absolutely necessary. Whatever the reason was, it benefited him so he didn’t think too much about it. She could have been invisible for all he cared.</p><p>Occasionally, he did think about making her show him around town again. There had to be more to see than just the market and the entertainment district. But he always dismissed the thought, deciding that he was simply too busy to run away. Besides, if it was anything like the last time, she’d simply bore him with her pitiful sob stories and that wasn’t something he wanted to suffer through again.</p><p>When he turned fourteen, his father named him the heir apparent, to his mother and the prophets’ pleasure. Solomon didn’t have an opinion on who should become king, but his mother had wished for him to inherit the throne for a while now, and if she was happy, then so was he. But making Solomon the heir caused a rift in the royal family, his six older half-brothers all feeling slighted by their father’s decision, and that was the first time Solomon felt the true, crushing weight of what it meant to be a ruler.</p><p>It was suffocating. He accompanied his father to meetings and listened to discussions on trade and politics. He sat in for boring council elections and made appearances in public, waving and smiling whenever he had to. He hated all the pomp and ceremony, wishing he could go back to being a child, free of responsibilities. But when morning came he still checked his schedule and did everything that was expected of him.</p><p>These were the duties of a king. He knew that. It didn’t mean he had to enjoy them.</p><p>Eventually, his attendants decided to suggest an intervention, coming to his chamber that night with a rather controversial idea. “Your Highness, why don’t you relieve your stress in the entertainment district?” they asked, keeping their voices low.</p><p>He stared at them, tiredness and confusion rendering him momentarily speechless. Seeing that Solomon hadn’t immediately bitten their heads off for their audacity – a hopeful sign – the attendants waited, unsure how their prince might react to the proposal.</p><p>Finally, he spoke. “What do you mean by relieving stress?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. His attendants shivered. It was impossible to read the young prince’s mind, and they didn’t want to accidentally offend him. Though what might offend Solomon was anybody’s guess.</p><p>“You know.” One of them, the braver one, cleared his throat. “When a man and woman come together and feel a mutual sense of attraction, they might decide to engage in certain <em>activities</em>. Um, like…the birds and the bees,” he added, flustered.</p><p>Solomon narrowed his eyes. “The birds and the bees?” he asked, his voice saccharine sweet, and the attendant swallowed, feeling the back of his neck prickle. Thankfully, his colleague stepped in then, rescuing him from his predicament.</p><p>“Please don’t jest, Your Highness. You know very well what he refers to.” He was the quieter one between them, and he inclined his head, waiting for his master to speak. Solomon sniffed, leaning back in his chair and rolling up his papyrus.</p><p>“Don’t insult me with such euphemisms again.” Solomon placed the scroll aside, his eyes still narrowed. “What king shies away from God’s decree? When the time comes, that too will become part of my duty – but for now, no. I have no such desires.”</p><p>“Understood, Your Highness.” The second attendant bowed, nudging the first man – he yelped and bowed as well, then they hastily left the chamber, both glad that their prince was in an amiable mood today.</p><p>Of course, Solomon wouldn’t have punished them for speaking out of turn, but he could be surprisingly cruel at times and the two attendants had been forced to carry out all kinds of requests, most of which turned out to be rather unpleasant. Once, Solomon asked them to capture twenty frogs from a nearby pond, and in the end, after watching his attendants wade around in the murky water, fall in the mud and get hit in the face by the slippery creatures, Solomon simply released the frogs.</p><p>They were certain that Solomon just wanted to see them suffer, and that was likely related to them not allowing him to go to town again, but naturally, neither one of them dared to accuse his master of bullying his poor servants.</p><p>Solomon thought about his attendants’ suggestion. The entertainment district…when he closed his eyes he could still remember the thick stench of perfume, the way it clogged up his lungs and made it near-impossible to breathe. Why would he willingly go there again, even if it was to <em>relieve stress</em>? That place would do nothing to help his mood. He frowned, running his fingers over the soft papyrus scroll – he didn’t have time to dally with women. His father expected more from him.</p><p>Women were distractions. That much he had gathered from observing court life; the ladies preened and batted their eyelashes at men in positions of power, Solomon included, but not once did he feel any hint of attraction to them. Those women reminded him of parrots, flashy and colourful and <em>noisy</em>. He didn’t see why he had to entertain people who only viewed him as a stepping stone, but his father said this was the harsh truth of politics.</p><p>Either way, his priority was Israel, not whatever physical urges his attendants believed he might have. He stretched, his hands reaching towards the ceiling, and an unbidden memory of that annoying kitchen girl sprang to mind – he suddenly found himself wondering if she was just like the others, clinging to him because of his royal status.</p><p>It was so strange that she’d want to see him again despite his hostility towards her, that she would make her way to the palace despite the pressure and expectations – did she have some kind of ulterior motive, perhaps? Because he couldn’t imagine why else she would put herself through this kind of hardship. Her father was a merchant; he probably made enough money for the both of them. At the very least, she didn’t have to come to the palace, where the slightest mistake was enough to warrant the whip or time spent in solitary confinement.</p><p>But he thought about her wide eyes, about the way she glanced away from him every time he spoke, how she always seemed so restless. Almost afraid. His lip curled. Why did he even worry? She was a pushover; someone as weak and helpless as she was would never be able to deceive anyone, let alone him, the future king of Israel.</p><p>Nevertheless, it was a relief to come to this conclusion. At least there was <em>one</em> girl in his life he didn’t have to be wary of. Not that he ever allowed her an opportunity to talk to him, anyway. But still. It was comforting to know.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>God came to him one day. Well, on his fifteenth birthday, to be specific.</p><p>Solomon <em>knew</em> He was God, somehow – he didn’t think he would be able to describe His face now, but in his dream, he had felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Like the answers to every question imaginable were all floating within reach. If he held out his hand and asked for the key, he might just be able to unlock the secrets of the world.</p><p>So he did exactly that. He asked God for wisdom, and He was pleased – He promised Solomon that he would receive what he sought and advised him to rule wisely. When he woke up from his dream, Solomon didn’t feel significantly different from his usual self, but then again he probably shouldn’t expect too drastic a change.</p><p>Who could even say his dream was real? He exhaled, staring at the ceiling. Sunlight filtered into his room, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. Fifteen now. How much longer did he have before he had to sit on the throne and play king?</p><p>His father’s health was deteriorating. It was a matter of time before he passed on – a cold, rational thought, but it was the truth. When the time came, Solomon would not mourn; he had to pull himself together, the symbol of a nation. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and sat up, dragging a hand through his messy hair.</p><p>A month after God visited his dreams, King David succumbed to illness.</p><p>Everything happened quickly. Too quickly. Solomon’s first order was to revamp the council – he had seen one too many underhanded deals being made at the old king’s table, and he was keen to stamp out the embers of mutiny before they could spark. He nominated friends and trusted aides to positions of power; he met allies, smiled and shook hands, and worked himself to the bone for the first few months to ensure that no one would ever be able to challenge his position.</p><p>It was boring and tedious but he soldiered through. This kingdom would not fall, not if he had any say in it – Solomon was not particularly patriotic, but he was king now, and this city was lovely and shiny, shimmering in the sunlight. He was nothing if not possessive, and he guarded his belongings with jealous zeal, staking his claim upon Israel like a sly, brooding dragon crouched over his hoard.</p><p>When the dust of change slowly began to settle, when he could leave the day-to-day administration of the kingdom to his ministers and advisors – thank Heavens for them, he would collapse if he saw yet another pile of paperwork – his attendants decided it was about time to broach another sensitive subject.</p><p>His queen.</p><p>Solomon knew this was coming. It was one of his responsibilities, after all, to ensure a clear line of succession. But every time someone brought up the topic, he would wave it off, saying that he had other priorities at present, that he would marry someone when the time was right, that he had better things to do than to court princesses.</p><p>Those excuses no longer held any weight, and his attendants knew it. He tapped his fingers against his knee, suppressing a sigh – today, they had brought his mother to change his mind, and Bathsheba was determined to drill through her son’s stubborn head. Intelligent Solomon might be; socially apt he was not.</p><p>“You cannot keep putting this off. You’re an adult now, a king. A man. And weren’t you the one who said you would look into this once everything had settled down?”</p><p>Solomon’s eyelid twitched. “I don’t see anything wrong with waiting a few years. The Philistines could attack at any moment. Our kingdom is far from peaceful.”</p><p>“It is peaceful <em>enough</em>. At least for now.” Bathsheba shook her head. “Why are you so afraid of meeting women? Anyone else would have leapt at the opportunity.”</p><p>That earned her a scathing look. “But I’m not like everyone else, am I, <em>ima</em>?”</p><p>“Excuses.” They glared at each other, mother and son equally stubborn – blue clashed with brown and finally, after a few tense moments, Solomon lowered his gaze.</p><p>“Fine. Do whatever you wish.” He exhaled, irritable. “You can show me all the girls in Israel but I won’t promise I will want to marry any of them. I have other priorities.”</p><p>“That’s all I was hoping to hear.” Bathsheba knew better than to think he would cave so readily. Temperament-wise, her son took after her; Solomon would argue with a rock for an hour just to prove a point. “You should relook those priorities of yours.”</p><p>“You should leave me to govern my kingdom,” he muttered, but she didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, she swept out of the room, already planning which girls to invite and on which days – Solomon was fickle, but there were several days where he would undoubtedly be more relaxed, so she'd centre the visits around those days.</p><p>For the next three months, Bathsheba brought him the loveliest girls in Israel for his inspection, usually following sacrifice days or after a particularly indulgent meal; he knew full well that Bathsheba was bribing the chefs to prepare his favourite dishes, and while he guessed that she wanted him in a good mood to entertain his unwanted guests, he was also partial to self-indulgence, so he pretended not to notice.</p><p>When he said that none of the girls interested him though, he was being genuine. He wished there <em>could</em> be someone who stood out among the rest, even if only to get his mother and attendants off his back, but talking to those girls was about as interesting as watching paint dry. He did not need another gaggle of sycophants.</p><p>After yet another failed attempt to sway his opinion, Bathsheba threw up her hands, her mouth set in a grim line. “Are you doing this to spite me?”</p><p>Solomon blinked, the very picture of innocence. “What do you mean, <em>ima</em>? That hurts my heart. It’s not my fault that those girls all have the personality of a wet blanket.”</p><p>“You’re being too picky,” she accused, and he shrugged.</p><p>“We are discussing the future queen of Israel. Is it wrong to be choosy?” He smiled, the kind of smile that made people stop and stare at him, their mouths falling open at how <em>captivating</em> he was when he wanted to be; his mother simply glared, used to his conniving ways. “<em>Ima</em>. Stop trying to force things. The time will come someday.”</p><p>“If I know you, <em>ben</em>, and I do, you will think of a way to squirm out of this until one day the kingdom falls and we all realise there is no heir to the throne.”</p><p>“If you know this, then why do you still try?” he asked. Bathsheba’s glare intensified, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I swear to you on Heaven and Hell that someday, I <em>will</em> give proper thought to my nuptials. Just not today.”</p><p>“You swore an oath. Make sure it comes to pass.” She gave him a withering look, then turned and left the throne room, leaving his attendants alone with him. The two men glanced nervously at each other, wondering if Solomon would take his irritation out on them – or at least, they <em>assumed</em> he was irritated. The king was leaning back in his throne, his eyes closed, and if they didn’t know better they would have thought him asleep, though the little furrow between his eyebrows indicated otherwise.</p><p>“Why is she so angry?” he mumbled, and they instantly stiffened, standing at attention. But Solomon’s words weren’t directed at them. He steepled his fingers, the frown on his face smoothening. “She has four sons. Any of us could give her a grandchild.”</p><p>“But only your child would have the immediate right to the throne,” the braver attendant pointed out, not noticing his companion’s urgent gestures to keep his mouth shut.</p><p>One of Solomon’s eyes flicked open, bright blue piercing through the unfortunate man. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he said, his voice mild.</p><p>“Oh, no. Of course not, Your Majesty. Please ignore what I said.” The attendant’s mind finally caught up with his mouth and he swallowed, hoping Solomon was in a better mood than he looked.</p><p>“I forgive you.” Solomon nodded, a magnanimous smile spreading across his face. “I would like to ask a favour of you since you are so bold and daring. It is a dangerous task, but someone has to do it. Complete it and I will grant you a reward.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty?” Both attendants were interested now. Solomon’s smile morphed into something that bordered on cruel.</p><p>“The pond outside my room has become particularly noisy in recent nights. I’m having trouble sleeping, and would appreciate it if you two could get rid of the frogs for me.”</p><p>“But Your Majesty, I didn’t even say anything!” the other attendant protested, while the first one just stared at Solomon, the little hairs on his arms standing on end. The king looked positively devious, his sweet smile belying the malice in his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t you two do everything together?” he asked. “I have never seen you away from Uriah, and vice-versa. It would only be fair to accord you both the same risk and reward.”</p><p>The poor attendant glared at his colleague; Uriah forced a smile in return. “We understand, Your Majesty. We shall investigate the frog problem.”</p><p>“Thank you, Ezra. Your assistance is most welcome.” Solomon beamed. “Let me know when you’re done, yes? I’m looking forward to a peaceful rest tonight.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty,” Uriah mumbled, then the two attendants fled the room, Ezra muttering curses underneath his breath. Once they had placed some distance between them and the throne room, he turned towards Uriah, who fidgeted, looking guilty.</p><p>“Next time,” he took a deep breath through his nose, “just keep quiet around the king, all right? Let me do the talking from now on.”</p>
<hr/><p>Night had fallen, and the croaking was gone. Solomon was going through his chest again, eyeing each trinket with superficial interest – a filigreed key, a heart-shaped pendant, pearl strings, obsidian rosaries, golden crucifixes. All of them glimmered in the dim candlelight, but none of them caught his attention and he sighed, wondering if he was changing. If this was what growing up was supposed to feel like.</p><p>Then he saw the crystal orb again and paused, his fingers halting in their search. He suddenly felt compelled to reach for it, some mysterious voice in his head telling him to pick it up – he followed his impulse, and the solid weight of it settled in his hand. Real and vaguely familiar, like an old friend he’d once forgotten.</p><p>A love charm. He still remembered. His lip curled at the thought – it wasn’t working very well then. Not that he ever thought it would. Exhaling, he rose from the floor and returned to his bed, still holding the orb. Maybe if he summoned a clairvoyant to the palace they would be able to read his future in the smooth crystal…</p><p>He paused, an idea coming to mind. Setting the orb down, he left his room, bringing his flickering candlelight with him – the hallways were dark and quiet, but he found it peaceful, the velvet night wrapping around him like a glove. He moved slowly, but with purpose, and eventually, he found himself outside the servants’ quarters.</p><p>There were still people moving around and chatting inside. He raised his hand, then shook his head, turning away from the door – he didn’t want everyone to know who he was here for. Slinking over to the nearby window, he peered into the quarters and saw the person he'd been searching for mere inches away, separated from him by nothing but a thin layer of glass. He tapped on the window and she glanced up.</p><p>When she saw him, her eyes widened and she stared, shock written all over her face. He gestured at her to come out and she shook herself, her lips pressed firmly together – after a pause, she turned away from the window and less than a minute later, they were both outside, silent and cautious. Solomon blew out the candle.</p><p>“Come with me,” he whispered, and so she did, their footsteps light and swift. They ran into no one else on the way back to the palace, and Solomon ushered her into his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind them. “Now we can get to business.”</p><p>The girl looked nervous, her hands fisting the fabric of her shift. “Your Majesty – Solomon,” she corrected herself, the moonlight illuminating his scowl. “May I know why you have summoned me? If it’s to, um – if it’s to –”</p><p>“Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop.” Solomon's scowl deepened. “I’ve not been able to sleep well the past few nights. I thought it was because of the frogs, but they have been removed from the pond and I still find myself restless.”</p><p>Realisation dawned on her face. “I see. Would you like me to make you a cup of warm milk then? Warm milk with a drizzle of honey is the perfect sleeping aid.”</p><p>“No. I’m not a child.” He wrinkled his nose. “But on second thought, could you make a cup of that and give it to Shobab? He tends to have trouble falling asleep at night.”</p><p>“As you wish, Solomon.” She bowed her head, then hesitated, glancing up to meet his gaze. “But if you do not want me to make you a drink, then why did you ask for me?”</p><p>He exhaled, crossing over to his bed and flopping face-down on it. She watched, and he could sense her concern from where she stood, but he didn’t turn around, instead choosing to speak into his pillow. “I recall your sob stories. They were the most boring tales I’ve ever heard, but I suppose one of them might be able to put me to sleep.”</p><p>Solomon couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her sigh. “If that is your command, then I shall obey,” she said, her voice drawing closer.</p><p>He turned his head so that his next words came out less muffled. “You can tell me all about your sorry beginnings. I probably won’t remember anything, so feel free to speak your mind. Once I’m asleep, you’re dismissed…oh, but don’t forget the milk.”</p><p>She nodded, her face unreadable. Pulling over a nearby stool, she perched on it, her hands folded in her lap. “My earliest memory is of the market. The streets that led there were always bustling with people. There were traders and food stands, and…”</p><p>Her voice was a pleasant hum, and he yawned, his attention already drifting. The bed felt comfortably soft today, and he listened with vague interest as she talked about her past, about the way she scrabbled to survive as a child, about the bitter cold and the stench of fear and the constant hunger clawing away at her stomach.</p><p>She still had that habit of oversharing. Solomon wasn’t interested in most details, but he was too drowsy to interrupt so he let her carry on, listening to her describe even the most gruesome parts of her life – the accidents she had seen, the thievery, even the violence that occurred within hidden corners and back alleys.</p><p>To her credit, she made that sound almost palatable, and he thought she had a nice voice – not the kind he would sit up and listen to, but a soft, steady drone that pushed out all the concerns that lingered in the back of his mind. “Come here…every night,” he ordered, his voice already heavy with tiredness. “Like…sleep medicine.”</p><p>She hesitated, but he heard no denial or rejection and after a while, she continued to speak, her voice washing over him like music. The kind of music his mother enjoyed, quiet and unobtrusive and <em>boring</em>. But it was precisely what he needed right now, so he let his eyes close, let sleep drag him into its dark, heavy embrace, her whisper the last thing he heard before he succumbed to unconsciousness.</p>
<hr/><p>Morning came, and Solomon rose with the sun, feeling more refreshed than he had in a while. He’d have to thank that girl for her help later, though the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth – then again, he was the one who had ordered her to lull him to sleep, so it was only right that he show his gratitude, even if he would prefer not to.</p><p>This had probably been one of his better ideas. Or maybe not. Yawning, he looked around his room and saw a plate on his table. It held a slice of cake, and he wondered who had left it there – probably the girl. Who else would have come into his room in the middle of the night? No one was that brazen.</p><p>He reached for the plate, taking a cautious bite, and felt the natural sweetness of figs and honey spreading across his tongue. The taste was almost familiar. Frowning, he swallowed and put the slice back down, thinking about where else he had eaten – oh. Right. Their initial meeting. That honey and fig cake from the entertainment district.</p><p>Come to think of it, he never paid her for that cake, did he? He didn’t manage to sneak out of the palace again after that. Feeling rather antsy – he prided himself on not breaking his promises, and he didn’t want to start now – Solomon went to the chest in the corner, taking out one of his less interesting treasures. A short pearl string, an unremarkable piece of jewellery, but more than enough to pay off his debt.</p><p>He’d give it to her later. He remembered ordering her to come back every night, and if she was a good servant then she would do as he said. For now, he dressed up and left his chamber, wondering what he ought to do today. He had a meeting in the afternoon but his morning was free – rare for him – and he wanted to do <em>something</em>.</p><p>As he walked down the hallway, he could hear distant yelling and he sighed, already recognising the voices – Shammua and Shobab. Naturally. He stopped and tapped his foot, waiting for his unruly brothers to show themselves, and moments later they rounded the corner, almost barrelling into their older brother.</p><p>“Solomon!” Both shrieked, and he winced – was he ever like that as a child? He didn’t think so. “Breakfast! Now! Hurry up!”</p><p>“You’re being too noisy –” he started, but they ignored him, each taking a hand and dragging him down the corridor. He sighed again but allowed his brothers to do what they wanted. He knew better than to argue with them when they were like this.</p>
<hr/><p>He was somewhat surprised when she returned that night – though he had assumed she would not dare to defy his orders, he still expected a little more resistance, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about her acquiescing to his demands so readily.</p><p>When she entered his room, he pressed the pearl string into her hands, and her first reaction was to push it back, her voice climbing in panic. “I can’t accept this,” she said, and Solomon scoffed, holding out the pearls. They glinted in the candlelight.</p><p>“It’s for that time you paid for my cake. Three years ago,” he said, and she just stared at him, incomprehension in the set of her mouth. “I always pay my debts.”</p><p>Something sparked in her eyes, and she shook her head. “But these pearls are worth far more than the cake,” she protested. “I cannot in good conscience –”</p><p>“Either you take the pearls or I’m throwing them in the pond.” Solomon shrugged. “I don’t like to be reminded of my debts or my past, so I’m getting rid of them, one way or another.” He pointed at the window, the pearl string wound around his fingers.</p><p>A few seconds passed, and they looked at each other, uncompromising. Then she let out a sigh and took the pearls with a shallow bow. “Thank you. I’m truly grateful.”</p><p>“As you should be.” She didn’t say anything else, though her fingers clenched around the pearl string, her knuckles turning white with strain. “Tell me more stories.”</p><p>So she talked about her relationship with her <em>aba</em>, and Solomon listened, nodding off as she described how he rescued her in the dead of winter, how she had been so convinced she wouldn’t live to see another day when a blanket was draped across her shoulders, and a kind man offered her food and a place to stay. How she had initially been wary of him, but then decided it was between him and dying out in the cold.</p><p>Solomon listened to her stories every night, and from there he had – rather reluctantly if he might add – learnt more about her. Even though he said he wouldn’t remember anything, his accursed memory was sharper than he wanted it to be, so he <em>knew</em>.</p><p>Over a year, he learnt of her family’s struggles, how his late father’s recent decrees outlawed the use of heathen magic and trinkets, how her <em>aba</em> was trying to find a secondary trade as a result. He learnt that she accepted a job in the palace because it paid well and she was desperate, even though she knew how harsh the punishments could be. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, so he suppressed the bead of pity in his heart and turned his face into his pillow, pretending that he wasn’t listening.</p><p>Every time he saw her now, outside his room, she smiled at him and he couldn’t help but feel irked – they were not <em>friends</em>, even if she had shared her entire life story with him by this point. It was all circumstance, an unfortunate result of an unavoidable situation.</p><p>One night, she paused mid-sentence and studied him. For once, Solomon was sitting up, looking out of the window. He could see the pond from here. Maybe they should have it drained, then the frogs wouldn’t keep coming every summer…</p><p>“You remind me of someone,” she said, and he blinked, glancing over his shoulder at her. He didn’t speak, waiting for her to continue, and when she next spoke her voice was quiet. “I don’t know if you recall. But I told you once about a man who teaches the children at the market. Without him, I would never have gotten a job at the palace.”</p><p>“I have a vague recollection,” Solomon said, looking back out of the window. The sky was dotted with stars, beautiful celestial bodies roaming across the black tapestry of night. “Are you saying that I look like him?”</p><p>“Somewhat.” She paused again. “The first time I saw your face up close, without your hood, I thought…I thought I was seeing double. Your eyes. You have the same eyes.”</p><p>“Blue eyes aren’t uncommon.” He yawned, propping his chin up with his hand.</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, and his eyebrow twitched – how dare she imply that <em>he</em>, King Solomon, would not <em>understand</em>? She seemed to sense his shift in mood and hurried to clarify. “You have to see his face. It’s practically a reflection of yours.”</p><p>“That’s ridiculous.” He was still offended, and his answer was clipped. “No one could – or should, for that matter – look that much like me. Not even Shammua does.”</p><p>“I was wondering about that.” She exhaled. “I always thought it was a coincidence that he resembled you. After all, there couldn’t possibly be any relationship. Right?”</p><p>Solomon made a faint sound of assent, barely listening. Maybe he should go to sleep. But he was wide awake right now, having accidentally taken a nap in the afternoon while reading something, and perhaps he looked like he was deep in thought because no one woke him until dinnertime, when Nathan came into the throne room seeking his advice on his assignments.</p><p>“But on the day you were declared the heir apparent, he told me he wouldn't be coming to the market anymore. That he had to fulfil his duty and observe the new king.” She caught his attention with that, and he glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. She blinked. “I happened to be purchasing ingredients at the market, so I ran into him there.”</p><p>“That was unhelpful. I don’t care.” He brushed his fingers through his hair, raking his bangs away from his forehead. “He said he had to observe <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“Apparently so.” She didn’t seem bothered by his brusqueness, and again his eyebrow twitched. “I began to wonder if there was actually some kind of relationship between him and the palace. But I haven’t seen him anywhere since that day.”</p><p>“Strange.” Finally, something that piqued his interest. “And why did you only tell me now?” he asked. “You could have said something at any point within the past year.”</p><p>“I did mention it before,” she said. “But you were half-asleep at the time, I think.”</p><p>“Was I.” He shrugged. “My mistake then. Tell me about this man.” He drummed his fingers against the windowsill. “Perhaps I want to find out more about him too.”</p><p>“Well, he looks very much like you. Your eyes…” Her voice trailed away, and he raised an eyebrow, turning towards her. She averted her gaze, seemingly flustered. “I could have sworn he was a relative of the royal family. Is that truly impossible?”</p><p>“I’m the first-born. My aunts and uncles have no children I am unaware of.” He shook his head. “There’s no way this man you mentioned could be a blood relation.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” He looked at her, the silent weight of his stare conveying everything he needed to say, and she fidgeted. “I meant that you might not want to rule out any possibilities. Every family has its secrets. At least, that’s what my <em>aba</em> told me.”</p><p>He was tempted to comment on how she didn’t have any real family of her own, what did <em>she</em> know of family secrets? But that seemed too cruel, even for him. “I’ll talk to my mother in the morning, then. Though I doubt she will have anything to say.”</p><p>The only thing Bathsheba had been harping on about lately was his singlehood, which made for very unpleasant conversation. But she nodded with a smile, and he briefly wondered if she had planned this all along; if she had somehow manipulated him into talking to his mother, made use of his notorious <em>need</em> to uncover every possible secret, to leave no stone unturned –</p><p>Unlikely. He had listened to her stories long enough to know that her mind was nowhere as cunning as he hoped it would be. But the thought intrigued him nevertheless.</p>
<hr/><p>Solomon found his mother in the gardens, and he had to lift his hand to his eyes, squinting against the sun’s glare. Bathsheba glanced at him when he approached her, but she didn’t speak, and for a moment the air between them simmered with tension.</p><p>He was the first to break the silence. “I need to ask you something.”</p><p>“If it’s not about a wedding ceremony then it can wait,” she answered, and he rolled his eyes – though of course, he made sure she couldn’t see his face when he did so. Even though he was sixteen now, his mother still treated him like a child, and he was certain that such a gesture would earn him nothing but an unwanted lecture.</p><p>“You need to stop thinking about my future, <em>ima</em>. The stress will give you wrinkles.” He kept his tone polite, even pleasant, and ignored his mother’s piercing glare. “No, it is not about my hypothetical wedding, and I want to make it clear that it will be a good few years before that thought crosses my mind. But this is just as important.”</p><p>“What could possibly be more important than preserving our bloodline?” His mother huffed. He pretended not to hear that, diving into the matter at hand.</p><p>“Do we have any family members I don’t know about?” he asked. Bathsheba coughed at the question, slowly turning her head towards him. Her eyes were narrowed.</p><p>“Why do you ask?” Her tone was neutral, but it was too perfect, too careful – he knew Bathsheba, knew just how fiery she was. His mother was anything but nonchalant.</p><p>“So there <em>is</em> someone,” he stated, and all the fight seemed to leave her – with a quiet exhale, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, and that was when he first noticed the grey hairs nestling at her temples, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.</p><p>His heart twisted. Had she always looked so old? She was once proud, arrogant even. Solomon and his brothers both loved and feared their mother, who firmly believed in the power of discipline and routine. But this woman standing before him looked tiny compared to his memories, and he wondered how he had failed to notice before.</p><p>“Not exactly,” she answered. “You’re an adult now. The king. And perhaps we should have told you a long time ago, but it always seemed best to keep it a secret.” She sighed, and he frowned, puzzling over her cryptic words. “It would be easier to show you. Perhaps we can make a trip there today.”</p><p>“A trip?” He was reminded of all those times his mother slipped away in the past, and he wondered if those excursions were related to this matter. “Where to?”</p><p>“You’ll see,” she said, straightening her back and walking away from the gardens. The flowers were blooming beautifully, their sweet fragrance filling the air, but Solomon was unable to appreciate them, his mind swirling with thoughts.</p><p>So his mother <em>was</em> hiding something, and she had finally decided to tell him the truth. Whatever the secret was, it had to be significant if she chose to hide it for this long. He itched with curiosity, but as he followed her back into the palace, he couldn’t help wondering if this secret was one that would be best left untouched.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ima (אמא) = mother<br/>ben (בן) = son</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The journey out of the palace was spent mostly in silence.</p><p>Solomon and Bathsheba rode on horseback, and it didn’t take long for him to realise that they were heading out of town; his mother was quiet, and there was something in the air that made him think it would be better not to talk, so they said nothing.</p><p>Close to an hour later – it could have been shorter, but he wasn’t keeping track – they came to a stop, and Solomon stared at the vast array of tombstones rising from the hallowed ground beyond, a solemn reminder of how fragile mortality could be.</p><p>The cemetery. He hadn’t come here since King David’s death. Once the funeral rites were over, he threw himself into his work and more or less forgot about his father’s final resting place. Should he feel guilty about the neglect? Tradition dictated that he <em>should</em>, but as he continued gazing upon the cemetery, he felt nothing.</p><p>“Are we here to visit <em>aba</em>?” he asked, dismounting his horse. It was rather sudden, but not too surprising – his mother must still be grieving, after all.</p><p>“We could, but that’s not the main reason we’re here.” Bathsheba clutched her shawl, her fingers twisting the embroidered linen. “Come with me.”</p><p>Solomon followed her into the cemetery, treading cautiously – the place had a solemn, almost otherworldly air to it, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable, he would prefer not to linger for too long. Bathsheba walked swiftly, and that made him wonder how many times she had come here before, to be so familiar with this place.</p><p>Bathsheba paid little attention to the tombstones around them, but Solomon couldn’t help studying these unmoving markers of death, reading the names that went past him. One day he would be buried here too. He glanced at his mother’s back and hesitated – King David hadn’t been much older than Bathsheba when he passed on.</p><p>“Here,” she suddenly called, and Solomon hurried towards her, eyeing the tombstone before them. There was no name, only a date and a short inscription calling for peace and God’s blessing. He counted and realised this person had died five years before he was born. Bathsheba looked at the grave, something like sorrow in her dark eyes.</p><p>He frowned. “Your first-born?” That seemed to be the most likely possibility, though Solomon had been brought up all this while to believe he was Bathsheba’s first child.</p><p>“You’ve always been too clever for your own good.” She exhaled, slowly shaking her head. “Yes. My son. Born without a chance to draw his first breath.” Her voice wavered. “You wouldn’t know, but I was married before your father and I met.”</p><p>Solomon blinked. “You were married?” She nodded, and a sudden shiver ran down his spine – he didn’t want her to continue, yet he found himself unable to interrupt.</p><p>“My husband was a soldier in your father’s army. He was stationed abroad.” She tilted her head back, looking at the sky. The sun was partially hidden by clouds today, and soft light touched his mother’s face – for a moment, he could understand why David had been so enamoured with her. Despite her age, she was still stately, still beautiful.</p><p>“Did you not love him?” he asked. It was disconcerting to listen to his mother’s sordid past; he would prefer not to, but this seemed important to know.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter how I felt. What matters is that your father and I sinned.” She stated this so simply, so straightforwardly – they could have been discussing the weather. “No sin goes unpunished. And so I lost my first child.”</p><p>He didn’t know what to say, and for a while, they stood side-by-side, quiet. The wind whistled through the cemetery, ruffling his hair – he eyed the tombstone, wondering how to respond. <em>If</em> he should respond. His mother bowed her head, closing her eyes, and he felt almost like he was intruding; the thought made him uncomfortable.</p><p>“If I didn’t ask, would you have told me?” he finally said, turning away from the grave – it was beginning to make his skin crawl. Bathsheba lifted her head.</p><p>“Likely not,” she admitted. “Not that I am ashamed to face my past, but I didn’t see a need to bring up my mistakes if no one asked.”</p><p>“Then we shall not speak of this again,” he said, and she nodded, her eyes dark with something other than memory. They left the cemetery, returning to the horses they had tethered outside, and the entire trip home Solomon couldn’t stop thinking about that tombstone – how would his life have changed if his brother never perished?</p><p>He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. There was no point in lingering over such possibilities – his brother was dead and gone, and that was that.</p><p>When they arrived back at the palace, Solomon and Bathsheba parted ways, with Solomon deciding to take a walk and clear his head. He doubted that he'd be able to speak to his mother the way he usually did, at least not for a few days. He didn’t feel anything about her sin – that was her life, and she had already suffered the consequences.</p><p>But something about her secret made his chest itch. A brother. Why couldn’t he get over that? He hardly ever fixated on something the way he did now; he wasn’t sure how to deal with his current state of mind, so he paced around the garden, glaring at the blooming flowers. They were too bright, too colourful, too distracting.</p><p>Then he realised what he was thinking and he sighed. Since when was he the kind to pay attention to such inconsequential details? The flowers in the garden were not his concern, even if they did happen to be the most lurid shade of pink he’d ever seen.</p><p>Shaking his head, he decided to visit the kitchen, hoping that a snack would help him take his mind off things. He hadn't eaten lunch, and he was beginning to feel hungry. Heading towards the kitchen, he tried to focus on other responsibilities – that report from his minister he had yet to look at, the counsel he’d have to provide later in the afternoon – but nothing seemed to stick, and he exhaled, annoyed at himself.</p><p>Information that had outlived its usefulness should simply be forgotten. Recalling the unnamed grave, the year of death, the regret lurking in his mother’s eyes – none of that would help him make any decisions, so why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?</p><p>“Solomon?” A familiar voice. Instinctively, he scowled, turning to look at the speaker – there was the girl, and he noticed Shobab holding her hand, staring wide-eyed up at him. Funny, he never knew they were close. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“That’s none of your business,” he answered, glancing at his youngest brother. “And you, Shobab. Aren’t you supposed to be studying with your tutors right now?”</p><p>Shobab pouted. He was seven this year, though he still behaved like he was younger, too used to being spoilt by the servants. “I’m already done! I was looking for you, but you weren’t in your room. Did you go somewhere?”</p><p>“Looking for me, eh? No doubt because you wanted me to entertain you.” Shobab beamed at him, not even bothering to deny his allegation, and Solomon sighed. “Why, what do you want to do? I have a lot of work to go through today.”</p><p>“I want to leave the palace,” Shobab said, and he blinked, startled by the unexpected demand – his gaze flitted up to meet the girl’s, and she was trying not to laugh, her mouth hidden behind her hand. “Staying here is so <em>boring</em>. And <em>ima</em> always says no!”</p><p>“You’re not old enough,” Solomon answered. Granted that <em>he</em> had been slipping out of the palace since he was seven, but Shobab wasn’t him.</p><p>“But you always get to go out,” Shobab whined. “It’s not <em>fair</em>. You’re always busy and Nathan and Shammua always have to study and there’s no one to play with me!”</p><p>He could feel his head beginning to pound. A headache. He hadn’t had one of those in a while. “But you’re supposed to be studying too, Shobab. Like your brothers.”</p><p>Shobab placed his free hand on his hip, his other hand still grasping the girl’s. “The tutors just keep repeating themselves,” he moaned. “I’m not learning anything new.”</p><p>That made Solomon wonder how intelligent his brother was. Either he was the next genius in their family, or he was too dim-witted to understand his lessons. Right now, it was impossible to say, but if Shobab turned out to be as smart as he was…</p><p>Well, that would be troublesome. Solomon knew full well what mischief he got up to as a child. They did not need another version of him running around, causing havoc. Though admittedly that might liven things up around here – no, he shouldn’t think that. “How about we review your knowledge tomorrow? If it’s up to par, then I’ll talk to <em>ima</em> about letting you leave the palace. With some supervision, of course.”</p><p>“Hm.” Shobab considered, and he felt his eyelid twitch. “Okay!” His brother shot him a winning smile, and Solomon softened. “You said you’re busy, right? I’m going to play, so you can do your work!”</p><p>Shobab tugged on the girl’s hand, but before he could pull her away Solomon cleared his throat and they turned back to face him. “Shobab, why don’t you hide first and she can search for you later? I need to speak to her for a moment.”</p><p>“Aw, okay. Fine.” Shobab let go. “Be quick, okay? We’re going to get snacks from the kitchen afterwards.” He giggled and sprinted away, and the girl shook her head fondly before she glanced back at him, immediately averting her gaze.</p><p>Solomon felt mildly annoyed, but he couldn’t place a finger on why. “Since when did you two become this close?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“When you first asked me to make warm milk for him. Shobab requested that I bring him some every night. I usually make a cup for him before visiting your room,” she answered. Solomon frowned, but decided not to comment – it was inappropriate for a prince to cling onto a servant, but Shobab wouldn’t understand. He was only a child, after all. Perhaps he could close an eye to this, at least until Shobab was older.</p><p>“That’s good. Keeps him out of my hair.” Solomon exhaled. “Just don’t forget about your duties. You’re supposed to be helping the kitchen, not frolicking about with my brother. I hope I won’t have to say that a second time.”</p><p>“I understand.” She bowed her head, and he lazily waved it off, distracted by the way her hair fell around her face, hiding her eyes. Had it always been this long?</p><p>“You should get your hair cut. I’m sure it’s interfering with your work.” She blinked, reaching up to touch her bangs, and he yawned, losing interest in the conversation. “I have plenty of things to do, so I won’t chat any longer. Go and entertain my brother.”</p><p>“Wait!” He paused at the sound of her voice – was that an <em>order</em>? He didn’t know if he found her audacity offensive or downright amusing. “Um. You said that you would talk to your mother, right? About what I told you last night?”</p><p>“Oh, that.” He considered whether or not to tell her what he’d learnt. Sure, she had a reason for wanting to know, but this was a family secret. And it wasn’t like his dead brother could be the man she was searching for. “Yes, we spoke. But my mother didn’t share anything of interest. I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere.”</p><p>She visibly deflated but nodded anyway. “Thank you for your help, Solomon. I didn’t expect you to be willing to ask, so I am already more than grateful.”</p><p>He shot her a withering look. “To make things clear, I didn’t help you for <em>your</em> sake. A man claiming it’s his duty to observe the king? I cannot simply leave him alone.”</p><p>“I understand,” she said once more, sounding perfectly calm. He had half-expected her to wilt at his response, so the fact that she maintained her composure intrigued him – maybe there <em>was</em> more to her than he’d once assumed. “I will let you know if I ever come across any new information.”</p><p>“That would be greatly appreciated.” He cocked his head, watching her stare back at him, quiet but steadfast. “Well. You may leave now. I have nothing else for you.”</p><p>“Thank you, Solomon.” She set off in the same direction as Shobab, and he sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His headache was still present, a dull pain that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. How troublesome.</p>
<hr/><p>Solomon’s days were as unpredictable as the wind. There was nothing routine about what he did – some days he spent discussing with his ministers, some days he received the queries and pleas of his citizens and some days he entertained foreign dignitaries, striking deals and negotiating benefits for his flourishing economy.</p><p>He didn’t mind most of his work. It was diverse enough to keep him amused, and he was an arguably cunning ruler, often swooping in on opportunities that others failed to notice. None of his decisions ever led the kingdom astray, and it didn't take long for Israel to become a thriving trade hub, dealing with all kinds of exotic goods.</p><p>But if Solomon had one weakness, it was his alcohol tolerance. He wasn’t too fond of wine, having avoided it like the plague when he was little. But now he found himself drinking wine like water, and he <em>hated</em> it – he hated the way wine made his head spin, how it dulled his senses and made him slow and sluggish, how nights spent with his guests usually ended up in a nasty headache the next morning.  </p><p>It was one of those unfortunate nights when she asked him, her voice quivering, if she could touch his hair. Solomon was still fairly lucid, enough that his first instinct was to say <em>no</em>, but she eyed him hopefully, probably thinking that he was drunk enough to forget everything the next day, and he found himself reconsidering.</p><p>Perhaps he could get something out of letting her do what she wanted. Her request was simple, and it wouldn’t hurt him anyway. “Do as you wish,” he said, his voice a little slurred but understandable enough.</p><p>Her eyes lit up, and cautiously she reached forward, winding her fingers through his silver hair. He closed his eyes as she tugged gently, brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re so pretty,” she breathed, sounding almost awed. “You’re a terrible, demanding master, but you’re still so pretty, somehow. It doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>“I can hear you, you know.” But his words carried no heat. He was too dazed to really intimidate her, and she laughed, scratching his scalp. It was a comforting sensation, and he could feel his body sinking into the bed, waves of sleep threatening to pull him below the surface. “You’re strange. I don’t care for you. Why do you still come to me?”</p><p>She didn’t answer for a while, and Solomon yawned, turning his head so that his other cheek pressed against the cool pillow. Her fingers continued to run through his hair, almost like she was petting a cat. He wondered if he ought to find that comparison offensive. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I can’t disobey my king, I suppose.”</p><p>“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I won’t stop you,” he mumbled into his pillow. “It was never part of your job description. And I’m no longer restless at night.”</p><p>“I don’t mind coming,” she said, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her. “It’s the only time you don’t sound like you want to have me flogged.”</p><p>“That’s rather pathetic, isn’t it?” He wasn’t thinking as he spoke. Her fingers paused. “Scrabbling for scraps of kindness from a man who cares nothing for you. Don’t you think you deserve better?”</p><p>“I do think so.” She didn’t sound offended – instead, her voice was calm, serene. “And I know that you’re capable of showing kindness. That you try not to use the whip and pillory wherever possible. That you love your family, in your own bitter, caustic way.”</p><p>“I can’t tell if you’re insulting or complimenting me,” he muttered, shifting so that he lay on his side – it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. She removed her hand from his head. “But I am not particularly kind. Don’t trick yourself into thinking otherwise.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m doing.” She sighed. “I did believe it was better to avoid you, once. I knew you never saw me as an equal, and even now you still don’t.” She hesitated. “But after two years of visiting you every night, I’ve learnt a few things.”</p><p>“It was always more of you talking than me responding,” he pointed out.</p><p>“Yes, it started that way, but now…” She smiled. “I don’t think you even notice it, Solomon. But you’re so much more relaxed now. You laugh sometimes and tell me stories about your childhood. And I’m no longer afraid to make requests of you.” She reached out to him again, brushing his bangs away from his forehead.</p><p>His breath caught. “That’s just you being reckless, and me not bothering enough to take action. If you want me to punish you for your insolence, then I will gladly do so.”</p><p>She seemed to sense that he was serious. “I don’t want that. It was just an example.” Her fingers twirled through his hair. He suddenly remembered his mother doing the same thing when he was little, that one time he caught a fever. Bathsheba sitting beside him, singing him to sleep as she pressed a damp cloth against his forehead.</p><p>“Stop talking. It’s grating on my ears.” His head felt so heavy. She exhaled, but didn’t try to say anything else; her fingers continued to stroke, and he shut his eyes, allowing the peaceful sensation to slowly lull him to sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>When morning came, he was told he had to give counsel to two women. Something about determining which one of them was the real mother of a baby.</p><p>He was nursing a terrible hangover at this point, and as he listened to the women bickering, he couldn’t help but long for the entire ordeal to be over already. “I have a simple solution to your problem if you'd like to hear me out.”</p><p>They stopped and stared at him, waiting for him to continue, and he raised a hand, kneading his pounding temple. “Well, there is only one baby but both of you claim to be the mother. In that case, why don’t we just split it in two?”</p><p>“But – but Your Majesty!” One of them protested immediately, her voice frantic with worry. “If we do that, then the baby will surely perish!”</p><p>“You just want your child back, don’t you?” He tried his best to suppress a yawn. “If you each take half, then you’ll both have a child and everyone will be happy. No?”</p><p>“I agree with His Majesty. It sounds like a good solution,” the other woman said. “If I cannot have the baby, then I think neither of us should.”</p><p>He was about to get one of his guards to unsheathe his sword when the first woman fell to her knees, pale with terror. “Please, Your Majesty! I need not keep the baby. She can have the child, but please, do not raise your blade!”</p><p>Solomon blinked. “Oh. Very well, then.” He nodded, and the guard stepped back down, removing his hand from his sword hilt. “Since you’re so desperate for the baby to remain unharmed, you must be the baby’s mother. End of discussion.”</p><p>The people celebrated, talking about his wisdom, about his fairness and impartiality. Solomon had just wanted the women to stop bothering him, so when he realised that this case was being used as an example of his incredible judgement, he wasn’t too sure how to feel. Did he want to be famous for making such a flippant comment?</p><p>Even years later, when he looked back at his illustrious list of achievements, this offhand suggestion was still heralded as one of his crowning moments, much to his chagrin. So many things he could be known for, but people remembered him for this.</p>
<hr/><p>One week after he turned eighteen, Ezra entered his chamber, armed with a bottle of wine and a plate of Solomon’s favourite fruits. Uriah had been wisely left outside.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” he began, placing the bribes in front of his master; Solomon barely glanced up from his scroll. “There have been some…rumours floating about lately. Your mother is concerned, and wants you to ensure they won’t spread any further.”</p><p>“What is it.” Solomon reached for a grape, popping it in his mouth. “If my mother is complaining, then I already have an idea what the rumours might be about.”</p><p>Ezra inhaled. “Well, Your Majesty, you’re not wrong. The people are talking about how you’re already eighteen, but as yet still unmarried. It is unusual for someone from the royal family to be single for so long. They wonder if you have some kind of…ah, problem.”</p><p>There was a pronounced pause, and Ezra was beginning to fear for his life when the young king sighed and pointed at the wine. Ezra immediately opened the bottle, and Solomon took a swig, seemingly having decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. “If Bathsheba mentions the rumours again, you are to ignore her. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.” He hesitated. “But are you going to let the people gossip about your marital status? It does not reflect well on your position.”</p><p>Solomon set his scroll down, plucking another grape. “Announce this to the masses tomorrow. Anyone caught discussing these rumours shall have his tongue cut off.”</p><p>Ezra winced. “Very well, Your Majesty. We will have the decree issued in the morning.”</p><p>“Good.” Solomon licked the juice off his fingers, then cocked his head, considering. “But it’s true, I should get married soon. I’m tired of people speculating over my love life. Tell my mother to pick someone, I don’t care who. It doesn’t have to be an Israelite.”</p><p>“Understood, Your Majesty.” Solomon nodded, waving him away, and Ezra exhaled in relief as he scurried out of the room.</p><p>“How was it?” Uriah mumbled, still stationed outside Solomon’s chamber. After some discussion, they had agreed it would be better for him not to be present when Ezra broke the bad news to their master. Solomon’s temper was notoriously fickle.</p><p>“He took it surprisingly well,” Ezra whispered. “He said to let his mother choose a girl for him. It doesn’t have to be an Israelite, so hopefully, he’ll find someone this time.”</p><p>Uriah snorted. “Do you remember the last time Her Majesty tried to find a wife for the king? It didn’t end on a good note.”</p><p>“That’s why I’m saying this time there might be a chance! If he wants to look beyond Israel, then there will be significantly more options open to him.” Ezra walked down the hallway, not wanting Solomon to hear them whispering outside lest they became the first to get their tongues cut out. “A queen might even lift his spirits…”</p><p>“Solomon?” Uriah spluttered. “You know how he is. He’s always preferred to work on his own; having a queen is more likely to frustrate him than anything else.”</p><p>“Fair enough. But it might mellow him a little.” Ezra shivered. “When I asked him what to do about the people, he said that anyone who continues to spread rumours would get his tongue cut out. And did you see how he ruled in that thieving case yesterday?”</p><p>“That fool is lucky he managed to escape the gallows,” Uriah muttered. “Though death might also be a preferable fate. Now everyone will forever know him as a thief.”</p><p>“<em>We’re</em> lucky we have yet to get on Solomon’s bad side.” Ezra shook his head. “Come on. We have to let Her Majesty know about her son’s decision.”</p><p>Bathsheba was pleased to hear that Solomon was finally taking his responsibilities seriously – Ezra decided not to say that he agreed more out of exasperation than any real sense of duty – and immediately began shortlisting princesses for her son.</p><p>A few weeks later, she invited Naamah, a princess of Ammon, to stay at the palace.</p><p>To say that Solomon was horrified was quite the understatement. “An Ammonite?” he hissed, pulling Bathsheba aside so that Naamah wouldn’t hear them. “You know full well how fragile our truce is. And you want me to court their <em>princess</em>?”</p><p>“Think about it! If this goes well and you two get married, then there’s no more need for the Israelites and the Ammonites to wage war, is there?” his mother reasoned.</p><p>He scowled at her. “You’re too optimistic. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on a secret mission to assassinate me. I don’t trust the Ammonites, and neither should you.”</p><p>“Give her a chance, Solomon. Princess Naamah is renowned for her grace and charm. She’s beautiful, well-read and an eloquent speaker. Isn’t that what you want?”</p><p>The scowl on his face deepened. “I didn’t want to get married, <em>ima</em>. You were the one who pushed me into this farce. I don’t intend to be civil around a potential enemy.”</p><p>“If you pretend to be nice and talk to her politely for the entire duration of her stay, then I swear upon God to stop nagging you about marriage for a year after that.”</p><p>Solomon opened his mouth, then paused, considering her offer. “How long?”</p><p>“Naamah will stay here for six months. No more and no less. That is the agreement I struck with her father.” She frowned. “But you <em>must</em> promise to be kind. I know all your tricks, and I want none of them – so no backhanded compliments, no jibes, no sudden disappearances, no blatant shows of distaste, no –”</p><p>“Enough, enough,” he interrupted. “I get what you mean, <em>ima</em>. I promise I’ll be good.” He sighed. “I’ll be wonderful and charming, the perfect host. Are you happy now?”</p><p>Bathsheba nodded, looking pleased. “Yes. Good. Now, go and entertain the princess. You make small talk with visiting dignitaries all the time. This will be no different.”</p><p>Solomon wanted to argue that it was very different – that most of his visitors weren’t enemies of his kingdom, and they were here to talk shop, not romance – but when he saw the glint in his mother’s eyes, he swallowed his words and settled at the table, giving Naamah a cursory glance. She smiled at him, and he forced a smile back.</p><p>Princess Naamah was beautiful, that much he was willing to admit, but he’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and they were never anything special. “Thank you for having me, Your Majesties,” she said, addressing them both; his mother beamed and Solomon thought about how he’d rather be anywhere else but here.</p><p>“How was your journey, Naamah? I hope you’re not too tired,” Bathsheba said. “We had the kitchen prepare several delicacies; hopefully they will be to your liking.”</p><p>Naamah smiled, bowing her head gracefully – a lock of her black hair curved across her forehead, stark against her fair skin. “It was fine, thank you for asking. And I am rather excited to try Israelite cuisine. I’ve never visited before, given the…situation.”</p><p>Solomon almost snorted, and only managed to restrain himself when Bathsheba shot him a warning look. “Yes, it is unfortunate. But you are here now! And perhaps given enough time, our relations might improve.” He could feel both women staring at him, and he pretended not to notice, turning his head in the direction of the door instead.</p><p>The kitchen girl was entering the room now, carrying two plates, and he’d never been more relieved to see a familiar face. She set the plates down, avoiding his gaze, and left as quickly as she came, presumably to get more food. “Oh, it smells wonderful!” Naamah exclaimed, and he wondered if it’d be too much to ask her to keep quiet.</p><p>They ate, lapsing into conversation, and although a number of the dishes served were his favourites, everything tasted like sand on his tongue. Bathsheba seemed rather taken with Naamah, chatting merrily away with her, but he kept his head down and tried to focus on his meal, paying no attention to the ongoing conversation until his mother called his name. “Yes, <em>ima</em>?” he said, an automatic response.</p><p>Bathsheba narrowed her eyes at him. “As I was saying, Solomon, tell Naamah about your day-to-day work. She might be able to share some insights with you.”</p><p>He resisted the urge to glare at his mother. To discuss his work in front of someone who was potentially untrustworthy? That was political suicide. But Bathsheba didn’t look like she was about to back down, and he knew better than to embarrass her at the dining table, so he sighed and tried to think of something inconsequential.</p><p>“We’re thinking of negotiating trade with the Ammonites,” he finally said, deciding that it should be safe to discuss matters concerning her own kingdom. “I don’t know if you’re involved in that, but our trade ministers are in talks and I’m expecting it to be escalated to me within the next couple of months.”</p><p>“Oh, my father mentioned that.” Naamah nodded, a small smile on her face. “If I may give you a word of advice? Our kingdom is rich in precious stones, but we are rather lacking in livestock. If you would be able to provide us with that…”</p><p>“Livestock?” That he had not known. No king nor his ministers would willingly admit to another nation their weaknesses, after all. He wondered if the princess knew how foolish her actions were, or if she simply had that much faith in their potential union. “We have plenty. What kind of livestock is Ammon in need of?”</p><p>Her eyes crinkled. “Perhaps we can talk shop after our meal if you’re interested. Your ministers are still considering their next move, yes? If you allow me to sit in during their meetings, perhaps I can give them pertinent advice.”</p><p>Solomon hesitated to agree. There was no way to prove that Naamah didn’t have any ulterior motives; her presence would almost certainly stifle any productive discussion. Before he could politely decline her offer though, Bathsheba interjected. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t we talk about it after lunch?”</p><p>He tried not to glower at Bathsheba, bitterly stabbing a slice of onion. If his mother was so keen to speak on his behalf, then perhaps he ought to abdicate the throne. It made no sense to be king if someone else was making the decisions, anyway.</p><p>Raising the onion slice to his mouth, he eyed Naamah, who returned his stare with a look akin to sympathy. It made the back of his neck prickle, and he averted his gaze, poking the remaining vegetables on his plate with his knife. Suddenly, he had lost his appetite, though he continued to stay at the table – it would be rude to leave, even if each passing moment only served to make him more restless.</p><p>Finally, the meal was over and Bathsheba said she would like to show Naamah around the palace. Solomon asked to be excused, claiming he had a mountain of paperwork to clear, and his mother reluctantly let him go. Solomon hurried off before she could change her mind, keen to place as much distance between them as possible; he paid little attention to his surroundings, and when he next looked up he found that he was in a courtyard on the other side of the palace, and it was blissfully empty.</p><p>He heaved a sigh. At long last, he could unwind a little – interacting with Naamah had done nothing to alleviate his stress. How could Bathsheba talk so comfortably to someone who, not too long ago, was their enemy? The Ammonites had hated the Israelites for years and vice-versa; there was no telling how long their fragile truce would last.</p><p>Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and tried to stifle the roaring in his ears. Heavens, he truly was the only one here with any political acumen. Drawing a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders and stretched, hoping to calm himself down. He only had to last six months with the princess. That wasn’t too long.</p><p>“Solomon?” He jumped at the sound of his name, a strange feeling of déjà vu flitting through him – when he glanced over his shoulder he saw the kitchen girl standing at the entrance to the courtyard, carrying a pot. “Are you finished with your meal?”</p><p>“Yes. Just.” His gaze lingered on the pot in her arms. “What are <em>you</em> doing out here? This is quite a distance away from the kitchen.” Not that he’d care normally, and even now he wasn’t very keen on knowing the answer, but chatting with her would help to distract him.</p><p>“Oh, Shammua needed a pot. I recalled we had a few spares in the cellar, so I said I’d help him retrieve one.” She held the pot up, peering at the glazed clay. “I wonder what he needs it for? He mentioned something about an experiment…”</p><p>Solomon had no idea what Shammua was up to, but it sounded more interesting than the work that awaited him or the two women walking around the palace. “I’m curious as well. Since I have some time today, perhaps I should check on him. Where is he?”</p><p>“Near the pond.” She stroked the surface of the pot, her hand lingering on the pattern of leaves etched into the clay. “He said something about frogs.”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow at the mention of frogs. “Whatever Shammua is up to, I doubt it’s anything good. Come with me before he decides to release an army of frogs upon us.” His brother was at that age where he liked to play pranks on the unsuspecting servants. Those pranks occasionally made Solomon smile, but more than once they had inconvenienced everyone else in the palace, and he supposed he couldn’t afford to let his honoured guest be privy to such…acts of mischief.</p><p>“Yes, Solomon.” She fell into step beside him. Neither of them spoke as they walked across the palace, but he couldn’t help feeling antsy – there was a strange tension in the air between them, and it was getting on his nerves.</p><p>Well, in truth he’d been feeling some of that tension ever since the night she played with his hair. To spare them the burden of reliving that experience, he pretended he didn’t remember anything that transpired. She didn’t bring it up either, nor did she do anything out of the ordinary, but occasionally he’d catch her staring at him, something unreadable in her eyes.</p><p>Those looks always made him uncomfortable. Like there was a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch, buried somewhere far beneath his skin.</p><p>Did she have feelings for him? If she did, then he failed to understand why. Solomon had not gone out of his way to be kind to her – just the opposite, in fact. Maybe she was a masochist or maybe she just wanted him for the same reasons every other girl seemed to want him. He gritted his teeth, irritated by the thought, and she looked at him then, concern in her eyes. “Are you all right? You seem…tense.”</p><p>“It's nothing. I’m fine,” he snapped, and she fell silent, though he could see the hint of disbelief in her gaze when she turned away. It irked him, but he let it go – he didn’t intend to police the thoughts of his servants, anyway. “What do you think of her?”</p><p>“Her?” She blinked. “You mean your guest from the meal?”</p><p>“Yes. That’s the princess of the Ammonites. Naamah.” He couldn’t help but scowl as he said the name. “My mother is hoping that I’d take a fancy to her.”</p><p>The girl didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking over her words. He could see the little crease of concentration on her brow. “She is not…your type of woman.”</p><p>That took him by surprise. “What do you mean?” Solomon didn’t even think he <em>had</em> a type. She smiled, her eyes bright, and he found himself looking away, his stomach churning uncomfortably at the sight of her. She looked too happy. He didn’t like it.</p><p>“You’ve never had any interest in people who did what was expected of them,” she explained. “Princess Naamah is beautiful and intelligent. I could hear that much when I served your meal. But you don’t like that. You think women like her are boring.”</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. “Pray tell then, what <em>is</em> my type?”</p><p>“You like someone who interests you, that’s all.” She glanced away from him as she spoke. “You don’t care much for beauty. But you want a sharp mind, and you want a person who isn’t afraid to challenge your perceptions. At least, that’s what I think.”</p><p>Solomon considered her words. “Perhaps. Not that there’s ever been a woman who managed to catch my eye.” He shrugged. “How bold of you, to be making such assumptions. I should have you thrown in a cell for a day or two. Learn your place.”</p><p>“Of course, Your Majesty.” He could detect a trace of sarcasm in how she addressed him, and he opened his mouth, but then decided to let it go.</p><p>“What do you think of my situation?” he asked instead, and she stared at him, surprise written all over her face. “Don’t look so shocked. You must have some opinion on it.” He exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “King Solomon, being forced into entertaining women because the people demand a queen. It’s pitiful, don’t you agree?”</p><p>“But marrying royalty from other countries would only benefit your reign. Surely that is something you considered when you agreed to meet Princess Naamah.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>agree</em> to meet her,” he corrected. “But yes, I did consider that. Which is why I told my mother that I was open to women from other kingdoms.” He frowned, his already poor mood souring. “And the first person she brings to me is an Ammonite,” he muttered. “Ridiculous.”</p><p>“Well, the Ammonites <em>are</em> the closest to us, geographically. She probably wanted to find someone as soon as possible. You have a notoriously short attention span, Solomon.”</p><p>He glared at her. “I don’t recall requesting a devil’s advocate.”</p><p>“My apologies.” She didn’t sound very apologetic. “I wanted to be honest since you asked for my opinion. No matter how you look at it, this union would be beneficial.”</p><p>“I don’t care about the advantages our marriage would bring to Israel. I know full well what they are; if I didn’t think of them I would have had her sent away, appearances be damned,” he grumbled. “No, tell me what <em>you</em> think. Don’t bring in politics.”</p><p>She hesitated. When she next spoke, her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “As one of your servants, I have no right to any opinion about the decisions you make.”</p><p>He growled, low in his throat. “That’s not what I’m asking for. Is it that hard to say?”</p><p>“Yes, it is. I’d like to avoid the whip if I can.” She reached behind her, one of her hands lingering on the small of her back, and his eyes narrowed.</p><p>“Who ordered it?” His words were cold, and it surprised even himself – she blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden anger in his voice.</p><p>“It was my mistake, so I accept the consequences of my actions. You need not concern yourself with that.” She exhaled, her hand returning to the pot. “As for your question, I have no opinion. And even if I did, I would not dare to tell you.”</p><p>“Fine. Don’t tell me,” he snapped, tired of this back-and-forth; they were just going around in circles, and he didn’t have the time or the energy to ramble. “And don’t mention it in the future either, should you change your mind. You had your chance.”</p><p>“I understand,” she said, and for the briefest of moments, he looked at himself with the eyes of an outsider, wondering why he cared about the thoughts of a mere servant. None of that should matter. Did he even want to know? Was he truly curious, or was he simply trying to pass the time? He wasn’t sure, and Solomon despised uncertainty.</p><p>“What are we having for dinner?” His questions would no doubt linger in the back of his mind, but he wanted to distract himself for now. He’d pick this conundrum apart when he was in the safety of his room. Out here, he was too exposed, too vulnerable.</p><p>“Oh, we have some bread in the oven now, so most likely we will serve that with a lentil stew…” She babbled on and he let her words wash over him, not quite listening. Even in the daytime, her voice soothed him, and he inhaled, trying to clear his head.</p><p>Right now, he was heading to the pond in an attempt to prevent Shammua from doing anything stupid. That was the most pressing issue at the moment. He didn’t need to think about anything else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yell at me on <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/dontenchantme">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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